Porridge...and other lame jokes

A prison opens a high class restaurant, inside the walls called, wait for it....The Clink.

Side splitting

All I can say is based on some of the characters I've worked with over the years, they shouldn't have any trouble finding staff.

Oh yeah...the picture has fuck all to do with this post...its a birds with tats thing, you know.....

Death of an Icon

Not Micheal You-know-who

"That fucked up n*gger who spent his whole life turning himself into whitetrash and fucking little kids did his final moonwalk this morning, Ha! thank fuck!"-says MCM,(visibly worse for the loudmouth soup), to everyone listening at the bar.
Its Friday, he's been drinking with his boss on a "checking the competition mission" and joined/stumbled upon myself, Mad Scot, the Fat Red Duke and friends. Not a pretty sight.

"That's not the news, that's shiite, and you canny use that word, its wrong." Mad Scot remonstrates.

"I was being 'street' and anyway, that's what they're saying out there in 'blogland'" counters MCM, a knowing glance, cast in my direction.

"Farah Fawcett, that's THE news" continues Mad Scot "but it'll all get lost in the Diana-esque bullshit we're going to have to endure right up until they bury Micheal Jackson."

A collective sigh - with the exception of FRD who's too bloody young to have spent his youth whacking off with an image of Miss Fawcett, all nipples and legs, firmly planted in the forefront of his mind.

"Yeah, I had that poster on my wall, you know, the red swimsuit one" slurs MCM

"Ayie, didnae everyone?" replies Mad Scot, lost in his teenage years.

"I think every study, every bedroom and every desk, had a picture of her, that or the one with the tennis girl scratching her bum" I add to the general nostalgia.

"Fuck me" says MCM " I thought that one was Farah Fawcett!" and with that launches off in the direction of the men's room.

In his absence, the general conversation turned back to Micheal Jackson and though not putting it as quite as straight forwardly as MCM had, there was general agreement all round. Spike nailed it with his post yesterday.

"Jesus, you look like you've been vomiting!" remarks Mad Scot to MCM on his return. Indeed, his tear-streaked face and deathly pallor suggested just that, or extreme grief at the death of every ones first major crush.

"Yeah, I've been trying, but the funny thing was that nothing would come up, just foam, I mean I've had seven pints of Guinness and can only puke foam, whats with that?"

"Your body......trying to tell you something?" I offer.

"Yeah, like its so fucked up, it needs all the fuckin' nutrients it can get, wherever they're coming from" comes some friendly advice from the bar.

"So you're saying its a health drink?" ask's MCM of the barman,a sly glint creeping into his eye, ".....in that case, I'd better have another then, who's round?"

A little later and we all toast to Miss Fawcett, for sadly, with her, goes a large part of our formative years,

"Farah Fawcett. May she rest in peace"
"Ayie........and Amen to that!"

Because some people still think its acceptable

for a Government to kill unarmed civilians.

This is the description:

"A young woman who was standing aside with her father watching the protests was shot by a basij member hiding on the rooftop of a civilian house. He had clear shot at the girl and could not miss her. However, he aimed straight her heart. I am a doctor, so I rushed to try to save her. But the impact of the gunshot was so fierce that the bullet had blasted inside the victim’s chest, and she died in less than 2 minutes.The protests were going on about 1 kilometers away in the main street and some of the protesting crowd were running from tear gass used among them, towards Salehi St."

Sugar and Spice

Cora-loada those!

"What the fuck was that stupid recipe?" comes Mr Lamb's Canadian drawl, wonderfully clear, through my new-do-it-everything-web connected-cant live without-cant work it-thingy, "that's bullshit! And so's your dumb story....no such thing as a shagable female chef, your mate must be blind or desperate "

"On what evidence?" I counter.

"The brutes you've got working in your various kitchens. They're all carpet munching ex-Olympic weight-lifters"

Ouch.

So because I'm busier than a cat trying to bury shit on a frozen pond, I give you this:

The seven sexiest female chefs and ask two questions:

No1 : "Which one?" I know, not all of them are strictly speaking actual chefs, but lets face it, who gives a shit? its a technicality

and No2, in an equal rights gesture I'm not famous for: "Any other suggestions?"

Just keep it clean ok?

p.s. Bollocks! true to Mr.Lambs beliefs, Cat Cora's a muncher

Something for the weekend (part 2)

By request, in exchange for a certain story(thanks fella !!)

Chicken Tikka

First Marinade:
15 x pcs chicken legs with thigh (cut in two places down to the bone)
1 x bulb of garlic and equal amount of ginger
2 x tsp salt
2 x tsp garam masala
2 x tsp freshly ground cumin powder
1 x tsp madras curry powder
2 tsp x red chilli powder
Plain vegetable oil
Lemon juice

Second Marinade
Yoghurt
Red food colour or yellow
Lemon juice
Reserved table spoon of first marinade

Blend garlic, ginger, salt, and spices, side aside 1 or 2 tablespoons and rub the rest into the meat with enough oil to lubricate the mixture. Add lemon juice and leave to marinade for at least two hours at room temperature then add food colour to yoghurt, then reserved marinade and a little more lemon juice. Marinade for a further 6 hours at room temperature or over night.
Cook on a hot BBQ but not over direct flame.
Serve with:
Mint Yoghurt Dip
1 x bunch of fresh mint picked
Equal amount of fresh coriander
2 x green chilies
1 clove of Garlic
Same amount of Ginger
Aprox ½ tsp Amchoor powder
Aprox ½ tsp Channa masala

½ a cup of yoghurt,
salt, lemon and sugar
Blend and add yoghurt, salt, lemon and sugar to taste.

This is the basic recipe but having tried it a few times I invariably end up making changes. For example taking the bone out of the meat. If you do this the marinating time is much shorter ie not over night otherwise its too strong and the meat gets really wierd texture-wise.

It was given to me by one of my Indian chefs who spent some time as tandoor chef in Bombay.

If we were dipped in the Styx

Caught up with the Fat Red Duke*(another chef) over the weekend*, and MCM* , who loved the last post and in an effort to outdo me in perv points casually asked if I had seen one called "isshefilthy" I hadn't, but like him, suggest you google it. Nuff said.
On that point, (sex, specifically) the conversation steadily and drunkenly went down hill. Stories real, made up and imagined were recalled and reviled and the best, using the word in a very loose way, was: "The recent conquest!".
MCM has finally managed, through a combination of vodka, charm and sheer persistence, to bed a certain lady-chef friend of his and because this couldn't be done anywhere other than a specialist hotel, the lack of post coital romance was an issue he felt needed rectifying.
"Its pretty hard to snuggle, kiss and go for round two when the bloody phones ringing and the desk bitch's telling you your time's up" was his complaint.
So, he suggested a night cap and they found themselves on the balcony of The Pawn*, on a seat for two, like lovebirds. Long story short, (I'd lost interest; we're on the corner of Jaffe and Fenwick*, you know... the "many ships come sailing past" corner) her phone rings, some Cantonese is exchanged and next thing she turns to MCM and asks if its alright if her boyfriend joins them.
"What? for a threesome? Little bit of spit roast action huh?" I asked, interest snapped back into focus.
"No, Twat, at the bloody pub"
Turns out this minor detail, of an ongoing commitment on her part, hadn't been shared and so MCM went from playing the Big Casanova on the couch, to playing the Big Boss bolt upright and two feet apart, while in his words, "some local macho dwarf with an American accent" sat there making whoopee with MCM's new conquest.
" Fuck, that must have put a dampener on things" I said, stating the obvious, "what did you do?"

"First of all, I felt a bit of a prick, I mean we hadn't been subtle earlier and people were watching. But then I just kept my mind on something else, it always helps " he replied.
"Like what?" Asked the Fat Red Duke,
"Like that 15 minutes earlier, she'd had my cock in her mouth and had sucked the living bejeezuz out of me. Then she stuck her tongue out and showed me..." he enlightened us, in a Zen-like way
"Oh, bravo! Good girl!"
"Yeah, I know, I think I'm in love"

"That reminds me" FRD butts in, "have you ever had one of those dreams, you know, the one where you have sex with someone you never knew you even fancied, let alone want to shag but its totally real, and then you wake up, and then, when see them again, wham! you really fancy them?"

Both MCM and I stare, the Duke has a point, he's struck on something. This is a "New" topic....

"Ah, an in your dreams thing.." says MCM....."Go on!"

*names and locations have been changed to protect the not so innocent.

A little something for the weekend Sir?

From Mad Scot, a website that involves the vaguely intellectual pursuit of guessing what she looks like nakid, charmingly titled "Guess her muff" and yes its very NSFW

Girls and Boys: "Happy weekend"

(Girls dont tell me youre not going to have a peek)

It was twenty years ago today....

That I was in London and having dinner, in Chinatown, with some school friends, one of whom was both Chinese and from Hong Kong. We were in her favourite restaurant,she knew the owner and it was somewhere on Lisle St. As the beer went down and food passed round, we were all catching up and enjoying ourselves. Then, at some point during the meal, one of the waiters came over and spoke quietly into my friends ear, she looked shocked and went quiet.

When we left, there were Chinese people on the streets handing out leaflets and shouting.

At this point, our friend started to cry.

"Whats wrong?"

"They are killing people in Peking. The army. They are killing people, Chinese people."

I have to admit, I hadn't really followed what had been happening but after that evening, and her reaction, I did.

Five years later and three years away from the handover, I came to HK where the memory was still very fresh in peoples minds. We were told never to forget.

Now, twenty years later, we are at a point where it didn't happen.

Why?

pictures can be found here

El cocinero no tiene quién le escriba

¿Esto es todo en lo que nos hemos convertido,
la luz de una estrella que se apaga?

A Fumie fan eats pizza

Or not as the case maybe.

"I mean look at it, its... ah...... wait.......ah......"

Wales....

One hundred days

On the BBC World Service assessing the first one hundred days of Obama coming to power,

Interviewer: " What are the noticeable changes ?"

Country town boy: " Well, the difference is black and white...... ummm, I mean night and day"

A true genius appears

There is a theory that if you give an infinite number of monkeys, an infinite number of time and an infinite number of typewriters, they will eventually come up with a Shakespeare play.

Here, at Chopped Onions Research Labs Inc. "we make you cry so you don't have to"TM , we have conducted a similar though not, perhaps, as accurate a test and after extensive research, our findings are a little inconclusive. Paddy, male no# 247, came up with some imaginative but ultimately unrealistic fantasies about working girls and the seedier parts of wanchai (see section Nightflowers for examples) Madge, female no#19, gave Dehlia a run for her money in the culinary department, examples of which are helpfully placed in the section titled

'Recipes' and Honey, female no#5001 contributed to 'Shopping in Honkie', but really, the other scribblings, could have only be filed under WTF?

Most of the monkeys seemed to lose interest very quickly and started wiping their arses with the paper and then trying to eat it. That or bash each other to pieces with the remains of the typewriters and so it was, with much sadness,that as CEO, I decided to call an end to all this and was tasked with finding homes for the participants.

I'm glad to report that many of these monkeys found loving homes in restaurants, the more aggressive males being placed in the kitchens and the others, the placid, plodding and less face it, not to bright ones, in the front of house.

The remaining monkeys were initially a challenge, they could read and some could write, but you can only hire so many waiters and managers, so I contacted my old chum Etonian Tim and asked for his help.

Bingo, the bulk of the rest we placed in the UK's Houses of Parliament, were they took to throwing money around like their shit and wanking, just like they had when caged and the very few that remained we placed in journalism, (The BBC, Daily Mail, SCMP, The Standard to name a few) where, it has to be said, they've really had fun.

So we've had: "Financial Crisis: The great financial meltdown, tsunami, crunchy thingy of the bathing ape world". Then they gave us "Long slow death of fat but now skinny and bald lady ape event" and now, I can hardly contain myself, they've come up with a guaranteed hit especially here in the Big Lychee:

"PANIC,PANIC, PANIC!"

"Phew!Finally we've got something 'cos the birds didn't come through, walking on four leg human piggy death by coughing disease"

Frankly, I think they're getting ridiculous.

Selling my soul

Had one of those "what can we do to get more customers" meetings with the Boss and the Marketing department yesterday, one where we were asked to "think out of the box".

I suggested a "Buy a drink and get a smile free!" promotion and showed them the picture above as an example.

Woops

Apparently the only box I might "be thinking out of " in the near future is one down near the Star ferry.

dirty hippie liberals and other short stories

Shakey's got a post of a stunt cyclist called Danny MacAskill (good name when you think about it) doing his thing on the streets of Edinburgh, anyway the music used is by 'Band of Horses' and this is them on Letterman a few years back. Like 'Fleet Foxes', they hail from Seattle.

In every short fat bald chef theres a thin grundgy hippie trying to get out................